


I Just Called to Hear You Breathe

by inoubliable



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys In Love, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Phone Sex, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 19:54:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14755284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoubliable/pseuds/inoubliable
Summary: But Richie is not altogether that patient, so he says, “Have phone sex with me.” It almost sounds like a whine. In his defense, it’s beenfour days. He’s kind of keyed up.“No,” Eddie says immediately, and he huffs a laugh, like he thinks Richie is joking. “You’re so annoying.”





	I Just Called to Hear You Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Halestorm's [Dirty Mind](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Eg35UyoHwo).
> 
> Very much inspired by [this ask](http://stellarbisexual.tumblr.com/post/174228735824/so-in-the-past-youve-said-that-reddie-cant-do) on stellarbisexual's tumblr. Honestly I saw it and sort of blacked out for a couple hours, and when I came to this had happened. You're all welcome.

It’s day four of the worst week of Richie’s life.

The apartment is too quiet. Richie has the TV turned on, a steady murmur of soap-opera noise, but Richie is half-expecting to hear Eddie’s soft laughter or his quiet breathing and the lack of it is deafening. Eddie is out of town. His mother finally decided to succumb to her inevitable stroke, but the bitch is too evil to die so she’s still making Eddie’s life hell, calling three times a day until Eddie finally agrees to come home.

One week, he assured Richie. He’ll only be gone a week.

It already feels like it’s been a century.

So maybe Richie is moping. Whatever. He hasn’t been apart from Eddie for this long in years. They’re _that_ couple, the ones who sneak out of parties to be alone, the ones who spend all their free time together and still miss each other when they finally have to part. If they go somewhere, they go together. But this time, Eddie is all by himself. He insisted.

“I’m only going back to check on her health,” Eddie had said. “I don’t need you working her up into another stroke.”

He’s right, of course. Richie hates Eddie’s mother, and Eddie’s mother hates him back. Keeping them separated by a couple thousand miles is probably best for everyone involved.

And so here Richie is, alone in their apartment, trying to distract himself from the way Eddie’s side of the bed is empty and failing miserably.

On the bedside table, his phone starts vibrating wildly. A picture flashes on the screen, one Mike took of the two of them three years earlier: Richie’s grin hidden firmly against Eddie’s temple, Eddie’s mouth half-open on a laugh, his eyes squinted shut. Big white letters say _Eddie Spaghetti_ across the top.

“Hello there, angelface,” Richie coos into the receiver, pinning the phone to his ear with his shoulder so he can mute the television. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Hi, Richie,” Eddie says back, his voice sounding sort of faraway. Richie thinks maybe he’s on speaker, but then Eddie’s breathing gets close. “Sorry, I meant to call earlier. I just got home.”

Eddie’s mother is recovering in a live-in rehabilitation center until the end of the week – Richie religiously calls in a nursing home, just because he knows that’s the sort of thing that would piss Sonia off – which is one of the only reasons Eddie agreed to go home. If he had to spend a week in his mother’s house under her thumb again, he would have flat-out refused, but as it is, he’s spending every night alone in his childhood home. Richie has very much considered flying out to fuck him in every room. Even his bedroom, just for old times’ sake.

“Did you have a good day?” Richie asks.

He can practically hear Eddie’s shrug. “Nothing special. Mom’s doing better today.”

Richie hums. He doesn’t say _I don’t care_ because that would just start a fight, but he sure as hell thinks it. “I miss you,” he says instead, because that’s much more safe.

He can tell Eddie’s smiling. “It’s only been four days, you dork,” he says.

“Four days too long. The apartment’s too quiet without you.” It comes out wrong. Too serious. He doesn’t actually want Eddie to worry about him, so he adds, “I think my virginity is growing back. This is the longest I’ve gone without sex in years.”

“Not true,” Eddie says. “Remember last year?”

He’s referring to a week-long fight that Bill dubbed The Civil War. Richie can’t even remember what had started it all, only that he had stayed with Bev and Ben, and Eddie had alternated between Mike’s place and Stan’s, and they didn’t talk once for six days. And then, on the seventh day, Richie had finally returned to the apartment to pack a fresh bag, and Eddie had been there already, and they had ignored each other, and then screamed at each other, and then ended up fucking on the kitchen floor. Richie still gets up for a late-night drink of water sometimes and gets a sudden flash of the way Eddie had looked, spread out and panting on the tile.

“If you wanted me to think about being inside you,” Richie says, his voice low and growling, “all you had to do was say so.”

Eddie snorts. “You’re such a horndog.”

“Are you trying to say that you _don't_ miss having sex with me?” Richie asks, feigning hurt.

Eddie blows out a slow breath directly into the receiver, and the sound crackles fiercely in Richie’s ear. “Of course I miss it,” he mutters finally, reluctantly, like he doesn’t want to admit it.

Richie isn’t offended. Eddie gets like this, sometimes, still has this weird hang-up about his sexuality. He’s just as interested in sex as Richie is – sometimes more so, which was a _glorious_ development – but he’s much more shy about it. Sometimes it just takes some careful coaxing.

But Richie is not altogether that patient, so he says, “Have phone sex with me.” It almost sounds like a whine. In his defense, it’s been _four days_. He’s kind of keyed up.

“No,” Eddie says immediately, and he huffs a laugh, like he thinks Richie is joking. “You’re so annoying.”

“Baby,” Richie says, and that is _definitely_ a whine. “Please.”

Eddie pauses, then. “Are you serious?”

“Yes!” Richie doesn’t think he’s been more serious about anything, ever. “Come on, sweetheart. It’ll be fun.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything for a long time, so long that Richie almost thinks the call has dropped. “I don’t know, Rich,” he says eventually.

That isn’t a _no_ , so Richie murmurs, “We don’t have to if you don’t want to. But I really want to.”

If Eddie refuses, then that’s that. Richie won’t push it. But the way Eddie’s breathing shakes a little doesn’t sound that he’s entirely disinterested, so Richie waits.

“I’m embarrassed,” Eddie finally says, and _oh_. Of all the excuses he expected Eddie to give, that one wasn’t on the list at all.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he says. He hears Eddie shift over the line, like maybe he’s gearing up to rip Richie a new one. He gets like that sometimes, real defensive, always ready to fight, especially when he’s uncomfortable or off-guard. Richie has known him long enough to know he has to stop it before it starts. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed of, but I know that doesn’t help. So what if I go first?”

There’s another long pause, but eventually, Eddie says, “Okay.” His voice sounds very small.

Richie smiles and settles back into the pillows. He’s not hard, not even close, and there’s no real heat in the conversation yet, but it’s no hardship to imagine what he wants to do to Eddie. He thinks about that most of the time anyway.

“I’d start with your mouth,” Richie decides. “You’ve got such a pretty mouth.”

“If you quote _Deliverance_ right now, I will leave you,” Eddie says, deadpan, but there’s a hint of a smile in his voice that Richie hasn’t heard since he brought this whole thing up.

“Just let me talk, would you?”

“Like I could stop you,” Eddie says, but there’s another shifting sound, like maybe Eddie is settling in to listen.

Encouraged, Richie goes on. “I’m serious about your mouth, babe. It’s always so soft. I could kiss you forever.”

“Thought this was phone sex, not phone make love,” Eddie murmurs, because he has picked up Richie’s bad habit of making jokes when he’s nervous. These are the dangers of long-term relationships.

Richie grins to himself. “I like how shiny and red your mouth looks after I’ve fucked it.”

Eddie inhales sharply.

“And I like the way you sound,” Richie goes on, his voice much lower than it was when they started, all grit and gravel. “I like those filthy noises your throat makes when you try to gag around me. I like it when you try to talk afterward and your voice is wrecked.”

“I like it when you hold my head down,” Eddie says suddenly, like he can’t help himself.

“Yeah?” Richie’s definitely getting kind of hard, now. “What else do you like?”

There’s a short pause, and then Eddie clears his throat, seeming to come back to himself. “I, um. You first.”

“I like fucking you from behind,” Richie says immediately, not at all discouraged.

Eddie makes a sound that is both strangled and amused. “Jesus, Rich.”

“You look so good like that, sugar.” It’s not even Richie’s favorite position, but Eddie goes a little crazy for it, and Richie has sort of fallen in love with the tight flex of the muscles in Eddie’s back.

“How do I look?” Eddie asks, his voice sort of breathy, almost a whisper.

Richie lowers his voice, too, even though they’re both very alone. “You look…” He tries to think of the right way to describe it. “Desperate.”

It’s a risky word choice, because Eddie isn’t fully into this yet and the idea that he gets desperate for Richie’s dick might embarrass him more than it turns him on, but then he moans softly. “I _feel_ desperate, like that,” he admits. “You get so deep.”

Jesus. Richie slides a hand down his own body, cupping himself through his sweats. He can just picture it: Eddie face-down on the bed, his chest against the mattress, his fingers clenched up in the sheets, Richie’s hands tight on his hips.

“I’m touching myself,” Richie announces, pushing down the waistband of his sweatpants to expose himself.

“You are?” Eddie asks, sounding sort of surprised. Richie takes hold of his dick and hisses through his teeth at the contact. “Oh my God, you _are_.”

“I’m thinking about you,” Richie says, like it isn’t fucking obvious. Still, sometimes Eddie needs things spelled out. “I’d already be inside you if you were here.”

Eddie takes in a tiny little breath, then says, very quietly, “What’s the rush?”

Richie pauses, not entirely sure what he means. “Hm?”

“You could, um.” Eddie stops, then exhales loudly, like he’s frustrated. “You could tease me,” he says, all in a rush.

“Oh?” Richie is half-scared to press his luck by asking for more, but he can’t help himself. “How should I tease you?”

For one long moment, Richie is sure Eddie is going to change the subject, maybe put a stop to this altogether. He’s barely even breathing over the line, very obviously riding the line between arousal and embarrassment. Richie is just about to reassure him that they don’t have to do this when he says, “You could, like, finger me. For way longer than you need to, you know? Until I’m really ready.”

All the air shatters out of Richie’s chest. He strokes his dick once, slowly, because what else is he supposed to do with _that_.

“Bet I could get you to beg for it,” he murmurs.

“I would beg,” Eddie agrees, soft and earnest. He’s starting to fall into it now. This is the closest Richie has ever come to believing there’s a God. “But you wouldn’t give me what I really want. You’d just give me more fingers.”

“How many?” Richie asks.

Eddie hums. “Three,” he decides, which isn’t that unusual for them, but then he adds, “Then four. Then maybe –” Eddie cuts himself off, and Richie is sort of glad, because if Eddie asked for his fist, he would last maybe two more seconds.

“But it wouldn’t be enough, would it?” Richie says softly. “You’d be so sweet, asking me for more.” He makes a considering noise. “I could probably make you cry.”

It isn’t actually that hard to get Eddie to cry in bed. He gets overwhelmed easily, especially when Richie is inside him, cooing dirty things in his ear. He takes a long time to come, probably because he’s so tightly-wound that he can’t just _let go_ – at least, not without help. Richie can usually work him up to a couple of good orgasms if they have enough time, but by the end, Eddie is almost always shaking, grasping for him, tears streaking down his face.

“I want you to,” Eddie admits. He makes a sound like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t.

“Are you touching yourself?” Richie asks, though he knows Eddie isn’t. Eddie doesn’t masturbate much. It’s another one of those childhood hang-ups that he just can’t quite shake, like the bulk size bottle of hand sanitizer he keeps on the bedside table.

But to Richie’s surprise, Eddie hums an affirmative. The thought of Eddie spread out in his childhood bed, lip bitten red, hand on his dick… it feels like a kick to the chest.

“Tell me,” Richie begs.

There’s a quiet sound, like the whisper of skin against sheets. “I’m thinking about you,” Eddie whispers, which is obvious but no less wonderful to hear. “Thinking about when you used to come over when my mom went to sleep.”

Oh. Richie quite honestly hasn’t thought about that in years. He doesn’t have to, anymore. The only sneaking around they have to do these days is when they surreptitiously fuck in the bathroom at a party.

But he remembers. God, he remembers.

“I popped your cherry in that bed,” Richie says, half-dumb with the memory.

“That is such a disgusting way to phrase that,” Eddie replies, but his voice is shaky, and if Richie holds his breath he can hear the way Eddie jerks himself, wet and rhythmic.

“You like it when I’m disgusting,” Richie breathes. “You told me so, the first time you let me put my tongue in your ass.” And Eddie had even kissed him afterward, so hot and fervent it was like Richie’s tongue had unleashed some secret sex demon. Richie had never anticipated that the sort of guy who took three showers a day would be into ass to mouth, but Eddie has always been full of surprises.

“Oh, God,” Eddie moans. His voice sounds a little distant, like he has his face turned away. Richie can picture him so clearly that his entire body throbs. The only thing keeping Richie from fucking Eddie senseless is three thousand miles of distance.

Eddie is making small, desperate noises now, the way he always does when he’s getting worked up. He’s not exactly loud in bed, doesn’t talk much usually, but this is different. He can’t help it, can’t keep the sounds inside, no matter how desperately he chews his lip or hides his face in the pillow. Richie so often had to cover his mouth with a hand that sometimes Eddie can’t get off any other way even still. He’ll grasp for Richie’s wrist and drag it over his face until Richie’s palm is hiding his fucked-out _uh uh uh_ noises. Richie’s fingers twitch with the desire to wrap around Eddie’s jaw, to muffle him quiet. 

“Are you gonna come?” he asks, mostly because he’s about three good strokes from an orgasm. It won’t be the first time Richie has come before him if Eddie’s not there yet, but Eddie sounds like he’s close and Richie can hold out if he needs to.

“Yeah,” Eddie whimpers, a high-pitched gasp of noise. “I’m, I… _fuck_. Richie, fuck me.”

Richie is sure there could be no greater torture than not being able to do what Eddie wants him to. His hips flex forward into his own fist, and his breath shudders out of his chest. “You’re gonna make me come,” he tells Eddie – a warning, a reward.

“ _Please_ ,” Eddie gasps, and then there’s a great big inhale. Richie knows exactly what that means, and he waits for a few seconds until Eddie releases the breath with a sharp cry, swearing and shaking and saying Richie’s name, over and over, sounding sort of choked up about it. It’s more than enough to jumpstart Richie’s orgasm and he grunts loudly, his fingers clenched around both his phone and his cock.

There’s probably two whole minutes of white noise afterwards, when all Richie has the energy to do is breathe and twitch a little. He only comes around when Eddie gives a little sigh, sleepy and sated, the kind of sound Richie is used to falling asleep next to.

“I am so in love with you,” Richie tells him, his voice orgasm-soft.

Eddie gives a little laugh that sounds more like a giggle, not that Richie would ever say that out loud. “I love you, too, you pervert.”

“You’re the one who just got off in your kiddie bed thinking about me eating your ass,” Richie reminds him.

“I’m hanging up now,” Eddie says. Richie can practically feel the heat of his blush through the phone. “I’ve gotta take a shower.”

“Wish I could clean your come up with my tongue,” Richie sing-songs.

Eddie groans, somehow sounding very fond about it. “Good _night_ , Richard.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me on [tumblr](http://namingtheruins.tumblr.com/)!


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